


Fic: And Blood Splattered Between Us

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, does Sam getting turned on by blood count?, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kevin accidently cuts his hand chopping onions, he doesn't expect Sam to be so concerned. He doesn't expect Sam to be turned on, either, but that, he can work with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: And Blood Splattered Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Balder12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/gifts).



> A/n: For the lovely [](http://balder12.livejournal.com/profile)[**balder12**](http://balder12.livejournal.com/) who bought my services with [](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/profile)[**fandomaid**](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/) to write some Sam/Kevin. Thank you, bb! Hope this works for you ♥ ♥ (and as always, thank you for your patience!) I'm also shamelessly using this for my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) card for the square "cuts or lacerations".

It only takes a slip of his hand, a small miscalculation in depth perception while chopping green onions that causes a laceration, straight across Kevin’s palm.

Of course. Leave it to the goddamn Winchesters in their ancestral bunker to sharpen their _cooking_ knives on a daily basis.

 _“Fuck_ ,” he curses, blood dripping down onto the opened package of Wonton wrappers he’d ordered on-line from a Chinese Specialty shop in Chicago for the high price of $15. Still though, worth it. Anything found in an Asian-mart in Kansas makes Kevin cringe with the likelihood of being at least 3 years outdated and containing some combination of rat poison and radioactive isotopes.

There’s a spare dish towel on the counter printed with fading tiny sunflowers, probably a vestige from the 1920’s or one of Dean’s thrift shop purchases; Kevin swipes it to stop the bleeding from his hand first before wiping the blood half-heartedly off the wrappers. Besides, with Dean gone for the evening (the germaphobic tendencies of that man in the kitchen continuously astounds Kevin), he can take a few moments away from the red-stained counters to clean up his hand in the bathroom. Throw some rubbing alcohol and slap a few Band-Aids on it before finishing rolling and frying the Wontons. Not that Dean isn’t a good cook, it’s just that Kevin misses the food he grew up on—egg rolls, kung-pao chicken, sticky rice and red bean cake. He’d planned on making him and Sam a full-on Chinese meal tonight.

Or, at least that was the idea, until Sam walks down the hallway, spotting him with a towel wrapped around his palm.

“Kevin?” Sam questions him, pushing hair back from his face to get a better look, “What happened? Is everything ok?”

Although Sam Winchester is one of the strongest, most dangerous creatures he knows—and Kevin’s acquaintances include the King of Hell, demons, and Leviathans—Sam also has a softer side. More so than his brother, Dean. He lets his guard down on occasion. Perhaps unconsciously, still tries to make connections, still tries to reach out to humanity and be a part of it.

Sam takes Kevin’s hand in his larger one and unwraps the sunflower-themed cloth, examining the slash directly through the heart, fate, and life lines in his palm. Perhaps two years ago, Kevin would have the laughed at the possibility that severing those lines could mean anything besides the happenstance of a knife meeting his hand. These days he _knows_ that there are supernatural forces in the world, and this particular omen doesn’t bode well for his future.

“Kevin,” Sam says again, this time shaking him. “What happened?”

“Nothing much. Hand slipped while I was chopping onions. No big.”

The Winchesters have already had to rescue him numerous times; they leave him locked in the Bunker while they fight the evil of the world together. Kevin really doesn’t need Sam thinking he’s any more inept and banning him from the kitchen as well. He needs something to take his mind off the damn tablets, and cooking recipes from his mother’s kitchen make him feel safe. Like the world isn’t crashing down around his knees.

“No big? Kev, this needs _stitches_.”

“It’s just a flesh wound…” he tries for amusement via Monty Python, trailing off when he sees Sam’s raised eyebrows and unamused face.

“Hand under the sink—now—unless you want to wind up losing your hand to an infection.”

Kevin walks as slowly as possible to the sink, trying to show as much resistance without direct disobedience to way Sam’s treating him like a little kid. Like he doesn’t know that an infection could get into his bloodstream and kill him. _Please_. He’s taken enough advanced biology classes to know the basics.

His blood is circling the white porcelain drain, half-diluted with water when he notices that Sam didn’t enter the bathroom with him, that he’s not watching over him in his usual, over-protective way.

Instead, Sam’s leaning against the door, eyes fixed on where his blood is splashing into the sink, mouth slightly open.

Kevin wouldn’t think anything of it, except he’s read the _Supernatural_ books that Dean keeps (supposedly) hidden underneath his bed. He might not have believed all of it either, thinking that maybe a few scenes with Sam in specific were…explicitly enhanced…but he’d heard Dean snap in the heat of the moment about choosing a ‘demon bitch’ over his own family.

And by the way that Sam’s looking at him now—eyes glazed over, fingers leaving indents from where they’re digging into the door fame—Kevin has no doubt that every word written about Sam’s blood addiction was true. Might still be, even. Kevin’s not a demon, but he isn’t exactly human, either. Who knows what his blood would do to Sam?

“So?” he asks, after he’s done flushing his cut. “You gonna stitch me up, or do I need to drive myself down to the local ED?”

“You kidding?” Sam laughs, shaking the look of desire off his face and wrapping an arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “My stitching kit is in my duffle next to my bed. Besides, growing up around Dad and Dean…I did more stitching than whatever piss-poor excuse for a resident is on-call at the hospital tonight. You’re in good hands, I promise.”

\--

It turns out that Sam’s “stitching kit” is actually more of mobile hospital, complete with a selection of needles, syringes, bandages, wound cleansers and liquid medications ranging from lidocaine (for local anesthetic) to Narcan (for drug overdose).

“Sit at the desk, hand under the light,” Sam orders, thumbing his way through different boxes of stitches. Sam doesn’t bother with putting on gloves before he draws up the lidocaine and injects in into Kevin’s hand, holding his palm steady as he tries to move away from the stinging sensation.

“Fuck. You could have warned me that was going to hurt like a bitch.”

Sam shrugs. “Well. Now you know.”

Kevin hisses in response, but it doesn’t take long before the pain starts to feel less throbbing and more like pins and needles before it goes completely numb.

“Feel anything?” Sam asks a couple of seconds later, poking next to the gash.

Kevin watches Sam touch his skin, but the impulses don’t make it up to his brain.

“Nope.”

For having such large hands with equally proportionate fingers, Sam’s surprisingly gentle and adept, making a running stich through his palm in under a minute.

“Wow. You’re really good at that,” Kevin says, holding his hand up to examine the wound after Sam’s finished. The edges of his life line are just slightly off center. There are a few drops of blood still seeping out, but it doesn’t hurt, and it looks like it’s going to heal quickly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, uh, you’re welcome.”

Less than a foot away, there’s no question this time that Sam’s eyes are glazed over in arousal now that he’s not focused on sewing Kevin’s hand back together. His pupils are blown wide and his breath shallow, like he’s not sure he remembers what his lungs are for. And when Kevin looks down, any remaining uncertainty is shattered by the clear press of an erection filling out the groin of Sam’s second-hand, washed out blue jeans.

“Look, maybe you should go…” Sam trails off when he notices that Kevin is staring at him, rubbing his hands down his jeans in an anxious, self-conscious movement.

It’s possibly the ashamed look on Sam’s face, or perhaps the blood loss, but the last thing that Kevin wants to do right now is leave Sam to wallow in whatever shortcomings or insecurities he has. Kevin knows those feelings all too well, and they never end up anywhere good.

“It’s not something you have to be ashamed of, Sam. You’re turned on by blood. So what?”

“So what?” he laughs hollowly. “You weren’t there, Kevin. You never saw me drinking it. How much I craved it, needed it. What I did for it…how disgusted Dean was by me.”

It hurts him to see how torn up Sam is about his sexual inclinations, how after three years of being demon-blood free, Sam still hates himself for the way that blood and lust are twisted inseparably in his wires. Ruby might be dust in the wind, but she did a fine job making sure that Sam wouldn’t forget her. Wouldn’t forget what they did that summer when Dean was six feet under.

He wonders then, what if he could replace Sam’s memories. Well—not replace as much as create new memories. Show him that it might not be a bad thing, this Pavlovian response that’s entrenched in Sam’s subconscious. Make Sam understand that Kevin’s just as turned on as he is. Let him know that it wasn’t just Ruby who liked to be thrown down on the bed and _fucked_ , spurred on by Sam’s bloodlust.

Because, hell. Right now, watching Sam try to control himself—Kevin wants nothing more than to see Sam let go, for once. No more patented Winchester restraint, or holding back in a paternalistic sort of way. He wants Sam to give in, to fuck him. _Hard_.

“Well then, since Dean’s not here maybe it’s time to face your fear.”

Sam’s forehead crinkles, trying to decipher exactly what he’s saying.

“How so?”

“Fuck me,” Kevin says, leaning forward and putting his right hand on Sam’s thigh.

He’s thought about it before, alone in his bedroom, fingers shoved hastily into his boxers. Sam’s hands cupping his face, traveling down the breadth of his chest and finding hold on the crest of his pelvic bones. Sam’s wet dick sliding against his…

“Fuck me and prove that getting turned on by blood doesn’t own you, Sam. Channel your arousal. You might always have a propensity for popping a boner when you deal with blood, but you don’t need to drink it. Not from me, or from anyone else.”

“But you—“

Kevin stops Sam’s hesitations in their tracks. “Have you looked in the mirror recently? I swear, in the few moments I’m not hopped-up on green pills--which kill my sex drive, by the way--trying to decode the tablets I’m thinking about your body over mine. _In_ mine.”

“Oh yeah?”

Kevin must have said the right words, flipped a proverbial switch in Sam’s mind, because all traces of shame, of reticence have disappeared.

“Is that so?”

He intertwines his fingers with Kevin’s, moving them up until Kevin’s palm is on top of Sam’s dick, flimsy fabric of his jeans unable to contain the heat that radiating from Sam’s groin.

“You sure?”

Instead of responding with words, Kevin stands up from the wooden chair he’s been sitting in and lays down on Sam’s bed, kicking off his shoes and socks in the process.

“Positive.”

“And if I lose control? If I try to lick the blood off you?”

He grins. “I promise to tie you up if that happens.”

“I’m holding you to that. But if I get too…intense…you need to tell me.”

“Fine. I agree to your terms.”

Kevin watches, biting his lip, jittery in anticipation, but conscious not to draw blood as Sam strips off his shirt and pants, leaving only his briefs on.

“Fuck,” he groans, his own dick filling from visual stimulation as he takes in Sam’s broad shoulders, full chest and six-pack abs, leading down to a perfect v.

“Yeah, don’t you worry, we’ll get there,” Sam says softly, moving until he’s standing in the open spread of Kevin’s legs before pushing him down on the bed and positioning himself on top.

His lips are hungry, licking and nipping at Kevin’s stomach as Sam slides his shirt over his head and deposits it on the floor. His pants and underwear join soon after, leaving him naked and vulnerable to Sam’s gaze.

Some hint of insecurity must show in his eyes, because Sam tells him that he’s _goddamn gorgeous_ and runs a hand gently over the contours of his body, making his dick jump in anticipation of being touched. Sam only spares it a moment worth of cupping his balls and tracing a line up the underside of his dick before moving northbound, towards his ribs.

Unlike Sam, Kevin doesn’t have a single chest hair on his body, not that Sam seems to notice as he nuzzles against his nipples, rubbing his thumb over the top to coax them into an erect state.

Kevin’s never really played with his nipples before, but as Sam keeps rubbing and sucking at them, he finds that they seem directly wired to his dick. He spreads his legs wider and pushes up into Sam’s mouth, arching his back to maximize the friction against Sam’s cock. Of course, that only makes Sam double his efforts, getting his nipple sloppy-wet with spit before moving his way over to the other side.

“Sam.” Kevin pushes on Sam’s shoulders, trying to get his attention because he’s going to come before they even get started if Sam keeps this up. “I’m gonna come.”

Sam backs off then, kissing a line up Kevin’s extended neck until he gets to his lips. He stares at them long enough that Kevin decides he’d like to be in control for once, digging his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulling him closer until their lips touch.

For someone who spends most of his life in motel rooms without spare time for non-fundamental hygiene, Sam’s lips are surprisingly soft. They’re also fuller than Kevin expects when he licks over the bottom one, right before Sam opens up.

Although Kevin kissed his fair share of girls (and a few guys) throughout high school—he was a bit of a geek sure, but he wasn’t a _monk_ \--none of them kissed like Sam.

It’s a juxtaposition of rough and treating him like he might shatter underneath Sam’s hands and lips, bringing him right back to the edge once again.

“Fuck,” Sam pants as he breaks away, a thin strand of saliva still connecting their lips. “I’m not going to last long. Especially not if I put it in you.”

“Don’t care,” he says back, his hands trailing on down Sam’s back, pulling him closer, making Sam’s still clothed cock slide against his ass. “I want it.”

“Alright. Stay there,” Sam orders, getting up off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

When he returns, there’s a bottle of lube in his hand, and his briefs have disappeared, giving Kevin his first look at Sam’s thick, uncut dick.

Almost unconsciously he spreads his legs farther apart, making Sam chuckle.

“You still sure you want it?” he asks as he climbs back on the bed, his fingers trailing up the insides of Kevin’s thighs. “Cause we don’t have to. I could take us both in my hand and rub us off together. Or I could suck on your pretty little cock that’s all hard and wet for me.”

They’re both offers that Kevin hopes he’ll get the chance to accept later, but they’re not the same as letting someone _inside_. Connecting on a primal, base-instinct level.

“C’mon, Sam. _Please_.”

“Needy,” Sam jokes, although he takes the time to warm the lube up in his hand before slicking up his cock, followed by rubbing it around Kevin’s opening.

“Wouldn’t be so needy if you’d goddamn fuck me already,” he pants, hoping to get a rise out of Sam, waiting for Sam’s hips to snap against his.

Instead Sam pushes gently against him, letting just the tip of his cock penetrate.

Kevin wiggles his hips, half-trying to get away from the intrusion, now that it’s finally here, half-trying to take Sam in deeper, wanting to feel Sam in places he’s never felt before.

“There you go,” Sam says, thumb rubbing a circle into his pubic bone. “Relax around me, just like that. You’re doing good.”

Sam pushes in deeper, burying himself with half-thrusts into Kevin’s body, stretching him wider and wider, until the press of Sam’s balls is hot and heavy against his ass.

“I’m all in,” Sam remarks casually, even though Kevin can see the sweat collecting in the hollow of Sam’s neck.

“Any time you want to move…”

With that, Sam pulls almost all the way out before slamming into him, making his body move up in bed with the force of Sam’s thrust.

Sam circles his hips, getting his dick in even deeper than before. “This what you wanted?”

“Feels good,” Kevin says, with whatever air hasn’t been punched out of his lungs by Sam’s cock. “Can practically feel you in my stomach.”

“Wish you could see how hot you look around me,” Sam says, his voice hoarser, no longer casual but strained as he starts up a rhythm fast enough that Kevin can’t keep up pushing back on Sam’s cock with every thrust that he makes. “How pretty your dick looks, slapping against your stomach while I pound your ass. Think you can come like this?” he asks. “Nothing but my dick in you?”

Kevin’s not entirely sure that he can, but he focuses on the slide of Sam’s dick over his prostate, on the bounce of his balls against Sam’s dick, on the sticky feeling of pre-come that’s made a mess of his dick and his stomach. He thinks of how Sam’s mouth will feel, wrapped around his dick later, swallowing him to the root.

It’s on that thought, with Sam’s hips speeding up, making his cock practically vibrate with the intensity of his thrusts that pushes him over the edge, making him grab onto Sam’s biceps for support as his stomach muscles flutter in repeated contractions, littering his body with strings of viscous come.

His dick is still twitching feebly as Sam’s hips jerk to a halting stop, making Sam collapse on top of him, two-hundred and thirty pounds of muscle. Despite liking the way that Sam’s dick is softening in him, it’s a bit hard to breathe, and he pushes at Sam until he pulls out and rolls on his back, pulling Kevin on top of him.

“Thanks,” he says, pressing a kiss on Kevin’s forehead. “Thanks for letting me have that…for not telling me that I’m sick for being turned on by you bleeding.”

“Hell, if I get sex like that out of it, count me in any time.” He burrows underneath Sam’s chest, throwing a leg over Sam’s, before remembering he’s still got food out on the counter.

“Hey. Not that I’m not comfortable or anything, but I was in the middle of making Wontons before I got sidetracked by slicing my hand open. And I spent a shit ton of money getting everything shipped here…”

Sam removes his arm and lets him scramble out of bed, putting his shirt and briefs back on. His pants can wait until later. Like, tomorrow.

“By all means. Go, cook.”

“It should be ready in twenty minutes tops.”

“Perfect.”

“And Sam…if you know…you wanted to continue after dinner…”

Sam smiles, “You don’t even have to cut yourself this time.”

“I’ll try not to. But you guys got to stop sharpening the kitchen knives, like, every twenty seconds.”

“I’ll talk to Dean about it. You know he tends towards OCD in keeping the knives sharp, but I think if he took one look at your hand, he might be persuaded for a once-a-month sort of deal.”

“Sounds good.”

Kevin’s almost out the door, before he turns around and climbs back on top of Sam, kissing him until he feels Sam’s dick start to harden for a second time. Which is of course, when Sam pushes him off his lap, after pressing a chaste kiss into the palm of his stitched up hand.

“Go on. The quicker dinner’s done, the quicker I can get you back into bed and get you off with just my fingers. Or my tongue.”

“Promise?”

“Winchester swear.”

Kevin walks out of the room, and back into the kitchen, picking up the knife. He finishes chopping up the onions and adds them into the ground meat and soy sauce mixture. Picking up a wrapper, he places a spoon full of filling into the middle, before remembering that he’d bled on it earlier. And while Sam might be able to channel his urges, letting him consume supernatural blood in any form might not be the best idea. It would be like giving an alcoholic ice-cream made with chocolate liquor. Just enough to wet their appetite.

He throws out half of the wrappers into the trash, making sure to inspect the remaining ones before deep frying them.

 

He trusts Sam, of course he does. Even with his veins full of demon juice, Sam had saved the world. It's just...the last thing they need with Crowley on their tails and Dean becoming best friends with a vamp is for Sam to plunge back into a full-on blood addiction.

Better safe than sorry.


End file.
